Strange True Stories of Louisiana eBook

FOOTNOTES: [13] That is, “Lake full of
snags.”—­TRANSLATOR. [14] The Indian
village having the Mississippi probably but a few miles
in its rear.—­TRANSLATOR.

IX.

MAGGIE AND THE ROBBERS.

“We are going out of here together,” said
Mario; “but John and I will conduct you only
to the door of the hut. Thence we shall return
to the flatboat, and all that two men can do to save
our fortune shall be done. You, monsieur, have
enough to do to take care of your daughters. To
you, M. Carpentier—­to you, son Celestino,
I give the care of these women and children.”

“I can take care of myself,” said Maggie.

“You are four, well armed,” continued
Mario. (My father had his gun and pistols.) “This
dog is worth two men. You have no risks to run;
the danger, if there be any, will be with the boat.
Seeing us divided, they may venture an attack; but
one of you stand by the window that faces the shore.
If one of those men in the hut leaves it, or shows
a wish to do so, fire one pistol-shot out of the window,
and we shall be ready for them; but if you are attacked,
fire two shots and we will come. Now, forward!”

We went slowly and cautiously: ’Tino first,
with a lantern; then the Irish pair and child; then
Mario, leading his two younger boys, and Celeste,
with her daughter asleep in her arms; and for rear-guard
papa with one of us on each arm, and Joseph with his
precious burden. The wind and the irregularities
of the ground made us stumble at every step. The
rain lashed us in the face and extorted from time
to time sad lamentations from the children. But,
for all that, we were in a few minutes at the door
of the hovel.

“M. Carpentier,” said Mario, “I
give my family into your care.” Joseph
made no answer but to give his hand to the Italian.
Mario strode away, followed by Gordon.

“Knock on the door,” said Joseph to ’Tino.
The boy knocked. No sound was heard inside, except
the growl of a dog.

“Knock again.” The same silence.
“We can’t stay here in this beating rain;
open and enter,” cried Carpentier. ’Tino
threw wide the door and we walked in.

There was but one room. A large fire burned in
a clay chimney that almost filled one side of the
cabin. In one corner four or five chickens showed
their heads. In another, the woman was lying on
a wretched pallet in all her clothes. By her
slept the little creature Suzanne had found, her ribbon
still on her frock. Near one wall was a big chest
on which another child was sleeping. A rough
table was in the middle, on it some dirty tin plates
and cups, and under it half a dozen dogs and two little
boys. I never saw anything else like it.
On the hearth stood the pot and skillet, still half
full of hominy and meat.

Kneeling by the fire was a young man molding bullets
and passing them to his father, seated on a stool
at a corner of the chimney, who threw them into a
jar of water, taking them out again to even them with
the handle of a knife. I see it still as if it
was before my eyes.